


London Rain

by ThirdGenerationRockette



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: 2.09, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 22:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13726971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirdGenerationRockette/pseuds/ThirdGenerationRockette
Summary: It's 6am on a Saturday morning and Mackenzie McHale is wide awake...





	London Rain

**Author's Note:**

> I've reworked this one a little because while I was rereading it in preparation to post it, I realised there were parts of it that were really quite awful and I'd have been embarrassed to post as it was. I've made some tweaks and I feel better about it now!

It’s 6am on a Saturday morning and Mackenzie McHale is wide awake. Despite having moved in with Will almost five weeks ago, a mere four days after he proposed (“I said yes, Billy, and I meant it.”), she still isn’t used to how loud the rain is when you’re high above much of the city. She doesn’t really mind though, they don’t have anywhere to be today, and she thinks if they were to stay in bed the whole weekend she would be okay with that.

Snuggling closer into his side, she slides her hand under his t-shirt, running it slowly up to settle on his chest, savouring his warm, solid presence beneath her fingers. He sighs and she angles her head slightly to look up at his face, smiling when she sees he’s still sleeping, a tiny hint of a smile ghosting across his lips. She has to fight the urge to wake him, especially when he looks so content, although if he just happened to wake up as she was running her foot up his calf, well, that wouldn’t exactly be her fault, would it?

Six weeks ago, as they battled the fallout from Jerry Dantana’s colossal fuck up, she hadn't imagined she would ever wake fully rested again, let alone curled up against Will, wearing little more than the diamond on her left hand. Genoa had threatened everything the two of them had built together at News Night, cracking it slowly and quietly, like a stone hitting a window pane and as the EP, Mac had been prepared to take the fall. Sheer instinct had taken over, the need to protect Will, to fiercely defend the rest of the team and allow them to carry on doing the show, even if it meant them doing it without her.

Ashamed of how she goaded Will into firing her, she has the clarity now to see that by that point she was only just holding it together; she wasn't sleeping, was barely eating, she thought if he could just give her one final push then it would all be over and she could go. Each day her resolve had crumbled a little more until she had felt her only option was to push him as hard as she could, using his own fragile ego against him because she always has known exactly how to hurt him, just as he does her.

She thinks about how much time they have wasted hurting each other, sometimes deliberately, sometimes just as a consequence of sliding further into the pattern of destruction they had found themselves in and couldn't seem to break free of. He could neither forgive her for destroying him, nor let himself admit he still loved her in spite of it, and she took the punishments he handed to her because having caused him so much pain already, she accepted it was her turn to be hurt. For so long she lived with the fear that things would never get better and the memory of it is enough to make her shudder even now.

She moves her hand slightly, until it rests over Will's heart and wonders if she actually feels it beating, steady and strong under her touch, or if she is confusing it with the rain drumming rhythmically against the bedroom window. Either way, it offers a welcome comfort.

Will had been the one to suggest they talk, three days after they got engaged when they were finally delirious with happiness rather than lack of sleep. She had panicked momentarily at his, "We should talk, honey,” wondering if his proposal had been just another cruel prank, before she remembered she never had to worry about that again. It had led to an hour of apologies, forgiveness, words, silences, regrets, kisses and tears; she had started crying when he squeezed her hand and repeated that he would never hurt her again, he had begged her to stop when she said for a long time she thought being stabbed was fitting retribution for what she did.

She sighs and it must be louder than she thinks because she feels him kiss the top of her head and run his fingers down her bare arm.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she murmurs, not entirely truthfully.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his hand moving to cup the back of her head, tilting her face up to his. 

"It's raining," she says, smiling as he leans down to kiss her.

"And?" He quirks an eyebrow.

"It woke me, I think," she answers, her voice sounding foggy with sleep even though she's been awake for a while. "I'll get used to it, I suppose."

"Correct me if I'm wrong..." He starts, stroking a finger down her bare arm. "But didn't you spend much of your school years in England? Where it rains. A lot."

"You're not wrong." She smiles lazily. "I don't actually mind the rain, it's just different when you live as high as we do. It just seems so much louder, and closer."

"That was a good trip, London." His voice is low and she nods against his chest.

"It was," she replies, smiling at the memory. "I hope you realise that my mother was quite smitten with you by that point, McAvoy."

"And her daughter?" His tone is light but she senses his need for reassurance.

"Was. Is. Always will be." She shifts slightly and kisses him softly, punctuating her words the best way she knows how.

They lapse into a comfortable silence, her head snuggled against his neck, craving his warmth to fend off the chill in the air as the rain continues to beat hard against the window. She remembers the trip to London so clearly, walking in the rain with him, insisting he pose for photos at various tourist spots, and showing him where she lived as a girl after her father's job finally took them back to England. She feels a tiny stab of something she can't quite name when she recalls how she had thought about the two of them taking their children on their first visit to London and introducing them to the British side of the family.

"You know what I remember about that trip?" He interrupts her musings. "Other than the rain." 

"Hmm?" she asks.

"How your mother, in a room full of what seemed like a thousand McHales, decided to announce how completely delightful it would be that her next set of grandchildren would have American accents." He pauses and even though she isn't looking at him, she can hear him smiling as he continues. "I realised then where you get it from, your ability to just up and say the most unexpected things."

"My mother has no filter, none whatsoever. If it comes into her head, it's usually out of her mouth before she can stop it." She smiles fondly, thinking of her parents. "It's a miracle she's been married to my dad for so long without causing some kind of diplomatic disaster."

"We should go visit them, Mac. It's been a while, right?" he asks.

"It has," she replies. "We _should_ go, it would be really good to see everyone and they'd be so happy to see you again."

"Filter or not, she was right." He must feel her shiver slightly because he pulls her even closer to him."They will have delightful American accents."

She says nothing for a few long seconds, partly because she wants to give him the opportunity to realise what he said and take it back; partly because she's hoping he knows exactly what he said and that he meant it. She also knows that they need to have a conversation, that she needs to fill him in on the fact that since she was stabbed the chances of her being able to conceive are...slim, but she can't quite find the stamina to raise it now.

"Hon?" he asks, kissing the top of her head.

"They _will_?" She manages, cursing inwardly at her inability to come up with anything even slightly more articulate before trying again. "I mean, shit. Kids, Billy?"

"Mm-hm." He waits, no doubt knowing she'll have more to say once her mouth catches up with her brain.

"We haven't really talked about that, have we?" Her voice is low, uncertain, but she carries on. "Not that I'm saying we should talk about it now or make any big decisions this very minute, obviously. I mean, shit, nobody should make big decisions at 6am on a Saturday, or even small decisions really. On the other hand, I suppose we do need to talk about it at some point, but still, I mean-"

"Mac." Clearly hearing the panic edging into her voice, he reaches for her hand, tangling their fingers together before continuing. "Do me a favour?"

"What?" she asks, squeezing his hand.

"Breathe, for fuck's sake." He laughs softly, giving her a moment. 

"Sorry," she finally says, "I'm not sure where that came from."

"We have talked about it. Not recently, that's true, but we have. You don't remember?" he asks.

"Of course I remember," she mumbles against his neck. "I just..."

"I said I'd never really thought about having kids until I met you. I'd never imagined wanting to be a father until I fell in love with you, but if you wanted it too-"

"You'd do it in a heartbeat." She finishes for him, smiling as she remembers how her stomach had flipped over and she had tried to play it cool but had been completely unable to keep the grin off her face. This time her stomach flips for different reasons.

"Yep," he says, softly. "That hasn't changed, Mac. Just so you know."

"Well." She lifts her head to look into his eyes, swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat and smiling. "I know now."

"Alright then." Will smiles back at her.

*

Somewhere around ten they find themselves sitting in a diner three blocks from their apartment. The rain finally stopped around nine, coincidentally the same time that her stomach started to cry out for a breakfast more substantial than her usual muesli and yoghurt.

He looks at the feast in front of them- eggs, bacon, hash browns and coffee for him; French toast, blueberries, yoghurt, coffee and orange juice for her. He looks across the table and smiles at her. Her hair is in a messy ponytail, she's wearing a blue cardigan with jeans and other than a swipe of pale pink lip gloss, her face is make-up free; he thinks she's never looked more gorgeous.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, nudging her foot under the table.

"Working out my strategy." She grins at him. "Do I dive straight into the French toast or pace myself and start with the fruit and work up to the toast and bacon?"

"You don't have any bacon." He points at her plate.

"I know." She points right back at his, smiling sweetly. "What's yours is mine, right?"

"With the exception of the hash browns," he replies. "I will stand my ground for the hash browns."

"Will McAvoy, defender of the potato!" She laughs and makes a start on the French toast, he takes a bite of his eggs, and they eat in silence for a few minutes.

"I think we should set a date soon," he says, suddenly, looking across the table at her.

"Jesus, Billy," she replies as she reaches over for a slice of his bacon. "You're covering all the important topics this morning, aren't you? Your EP would be so proud."

"My EP kicks my ass." He grins and steals a couple of blueberries from her plate, figuring it's the least she owes him in return for the amount of his bacon he suspects will end up on her side of the table. "Well?"

"Okay...well, I think early summer might be nice, before it gets too hot. You know my hair can't take the humidity in the height of summer." She pauses to take a gulp of coffee. "And I _have_ always wanted to be a June bride..."

"If you and your hair can deal with June, so can I." He reaches over and takes hold of her hand. "We could Skype with your parents this afternoon, see if that looks good for them?"

"Will, their eldest daughter is finally getting married. I'm fairly sure if we called and told them the wedding was tomorrow, my mother would fly the bloody plane herself if she had to." She squeezes his hand and smiles before letting go and turning her attention back to her breakfast.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that. I love your mom but I've seen her behind the wheel of a car." He smirks as she rolls her eyes before his tone turns serious. "I'm sorry for that, you know."

"For what?" She looks up from her food, a confused look on her face.

"The time we wasted, I guess." He looks away before he can continue. "We could have had this years ago; been married, probably could have had a kid or two already if I hadn't been such a stubborn, unforgiving asshole-"

"Hey." She stops him, pushing her plate aside so she can take his hand again, threading her fingers through his. "Stop it, Billy. That's not what I meant and you know it. Look at me...please."

He looks over at her and she nods, ready to finish what she's saying now she can look into his eyes. He brings his free hand to rest on hers and she smiles.

"We've talked about this until we're blue in the fucking face, and we're not going to keep doing this to ourselves. We spent years punishing each other and we're done with it. I love you, I can't wait to marry you and I'm holding you to the whole 'never going to hurt me again' thing. Okay?"

"Copy that," he murmurs. "What did I say about my EP kicking my ass..."

"Damn right." She leans back, her legs tangling with his under the table as she grins. "Now give me back at least one of my hands so I can get to the rest of your bacon."

*

"I was going to go back to London, you know?" She says, out of the blue, as they sit on the couch, surrounded by newspapers. "After election night, I mean. That was what I was thinking, that I'd go back."

"Really?" He hadn't thought about what she might have done because in his mind, he was never going to let it stick, firing her, but he wonders now if she would have held him to it if things hadn't turned out the way they did.

"I'm glad it didn't come to that, obviously." She smiles at him and passes him the sports section. "Thankfully, you had your epiphany just in time."

"Thank God," he says.

"I did wonder if you had a feeling that's what I might do," she says, "and that was why you-"

"Wait, you think I asked you to marry me just to stop you from leaving?" He looks up from the paper and waits for her to meet his gaze. "Seriously?"

"Of course not, not _now_ , but I did wonder, that first night, if you figured I'd leave New York and you didn't know how else to convince me to stay." She bites her lip, wondering why on earth she brought this up at all.

"I was furious at myself for firing you, Mac, and a little bit at you for pushing me to it," he says, frowning at her. "I hadn't even thought about you not staying. In New York, I mean. I don't know what the fuck I thought was going to happen after election night...would you really have gone?"

"I don't know," she says, quietly. "I think so, I'm not sure. I wasn't exactly thinking clearly that week, as you so kindly pointed out on a number of occasions."

"Why do you run?" he asks, folding up the newspaper her was holding and setting it down on the coffee table.

"I'm not running now, Will." She snaps, looking down and starting to pick absently at a fingernail.

"It wasn't a criticism," he says, waiting until she looks at him before he continues. "It was just a question."

“It sounded like a criticism from where I'm sitting.” She's aware she sounds petulant but she can't help it. "You make it sound like every time I have a bad day, I run for the hills-"

"That's not what I said." He interrupts. "Not at all. I know you're not a quitter, far from it. Jesus, you put up with me through all kinds of crap, you stayed when I was behaving like a complete ass..."

"Because I loved you, I _love_ you." Her eyes are bright and she can tell by the stricken look on his face that he didn't mean to upset her, but she started the conversation so she goes on. "You know why I ran last time. I broke your heart, but I broke mine too. I couldn't have stayed in New York, seeing you on TV every night reminding me of what I'd done. I hated myself enough already."

"Mac..." He winces as she swipes angrily at a tear making its way down her cheek, "I wasn't trying to, I mean, we've talked about this already. We don't need to- shit, come here."

She scoots over to him and ends up half on the couch, half on his lap, his arm around her, stroking her back gently.

"It's okay," she says, her voice muffled against his t-shirt, "I brought it up, God only knows why."

"I'd have done whatever I had to do to stop you going," he replies. "To London, I mean."

"Would you have raced to the airport, ring in hand, and got down on your knees, like at the end of a romantic movie?" she asks, lifting her head from his chest and giving him a half smile.

"Yeah." He smiles back at her. "All of that, except for the knees,"

"I felt like I'd run out of options." She turns serious again suddenly, and he stays quiet, letting her finish. "I stayed even when it was hard, Will, _really_ hard, even when there were days when it felt like we might kill each other, because I just couldn't quite stop hoping you might still love me- "

"I never stopped, you know that." He interrupts and she stops him with a kiss.

"I know that now." She nods. "But I didn't at the time, so when you fired me, it felt like the end, like that was it, the final bit of hope was gone. Going back to London, where I wouldn't have to see you on TV or worry about seeing you on the street somewhere, just seemed like the most sensible option."

"I get that." He nods too, still stroking her back as she talks. "I do."

"So it was less about running and more about going to a safe place for a while," she says, sighing softly. "As ridiculous as it sounds, I just wanted to be where my mum could give me a hug and tell me everything was going to be okay."

She finishes talking and climbs fully onto his lap, taking his face in her hands and kissing him, her thumbs pressing softly against his cheekbones, his hands moving lower down her back until she breaks the kiss and sits back slightly, looking into his eyes.

"I'm not running anymore," she whispers, smiling as he nods and pulls her closer, until her face is resting in the crook of his neck, her hands tucked in against his chest.

They sit silently for a few moments, each listening to the sound of the other breathing, and then it starts to rain again, slowly building up to a steady beat against the window; she smiles against his skin as she speaks.

"It's raining again, Billy." She pulls back and her hands stroke gently across his shoulders.

"And?" He runs a finger slowly down the side of her face, stopping with a soft tap on the end of her chin, making her smile.

"Let's go back to bed."


End file.
